


TeeVee Head

by Nihiley_Face



Series: NSFW Fics [2]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: ADHD, But with a happy ending, Fluff, M/M, Male Solo, Other, but ill keep it on mature, but those are background themes, i don't fucking know, it's not super graphic, just in case, kinda angst, sensory issues, solo masturbation, why is this written in second person??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 01:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihiley_Face/pseuds/Nihiley_Face
Summary: And you're present for the present, or you aren't, and that's it.[Tom works through sensory issues with gentle thoughts of him.]





	TeeVee Head

Flipping channels.

Flip.

Flip.

Flip.

You can smell the oncoming storm from your open window.

Flip.

You can feel every bit of your clothing on your body.

Flip.

Every piece of fabric touching your skin.

Flip.

You can feel yourself breathing.

Flip.

Every itch.

Flip.

Your tongue in your mouth.

You can hear people talking. 

The wind.

Footsteps.

You hate it.

Static. 

Your mind is a shitty television and your eyes are the screens. 

Everyone else has a remote. 

Nobody knows what it's like up in there.

It's all just so intense. 

Like some sort of fast-paced action movie, the only thing that matters is now, and what you do with it. 

There is no past. 

Future? Never heard of her. 

Only present. 

And you're present for the present, or you aren't, and that's it. 

Television for brains, huh?

Doesn't sound so bad, one might say. 

But it is. 

You feel everything far worse than everyone else. All the fabric you feel on your body? It gets worse at three in the morning when you want to sleep. You just want to sleep, but everything itches, and it's too hot, and you hate the way your blankets feel, and you can't turn your mind off like a television because the power button is broken, and no matter what, you don't want to get out bed, even if you're suffering in it. 

You feel everything so... Purely. Everything is pure, and it's very, very intense. You almost don't know how to deal with it. You aren't medicated, so all you've got now are poor coping mechanisms. With something this pure, it's nearly impossible to cope properly. For you, at least. 

Your eyes sting with the static as your mind starts to wander. 

Even though no one is in the room, you think about how stupid you must look with your mouth wide open as you space out in your bedroom, staring at your ceiling. You close your mouth. 

Ah. 

So the RSD is kicking in, huh? 

So be it. 

It's not like you can stop it, anyways. 

Your eyes completely turn to static as your mind suddenly flies everywhere, from everything you ever did wrong, to the times you embarrassed yourself in front of people you liked and you can't focus on the good of anything. 

Hell, you can't focus at all. 

Someone walks in the room, but you're oblivious. 

He sees your static eyes and sighs. He taps you on the nose and you jump. Who is that, again? 

Oh. 

You don't like him. 

It's Tord. 

"Tom," He says. "Tord." You reply, somewhat nervous. You like his face, so you don't stare at it, because if you did, he might know you liked his face, and if he figures out you like his face, he might know you like him, and that-

Tord snaps his fingers in front of you. 

"Hey, space case," He says. "Edd wants to know if you'll be participating in movie night, so he can divide the popcorn." You shake your head. "Nah, I'm fine." You crawl further into the messy nest that is your bed and close your static eyes, trying to escape the noise. 

Tord touches your shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. For some reason, you really didn't like that, and it scared you a lot. Tord looks terrified to touch you, and just leaves the room. 

You lay in bed again. 

You smell popcorn. 

You feel fabric. 

It itches. 

You're hungry. 

No matter what you do, your left foot is always cold. 

Your mouth is dry.

Your tongue hurts. 

You're thirsty. 

You need to move. 

You need to chew something. 

To squeeze something. 

You want something around your neck. You need something in your teeth. In your hands. Something to kick. Something to give you a sort of stimuli that will calm you. 

Pick at your cuticles. Bite your lips. Punch your arms. Chew your clothes. Kick your blankets. Squeeze your bed. Twitch your foot. Squirm endlessly. 

Jacking off helped, sometimes. 

But not always. 

Not now, it probably wouldn't do much. 

For something like this, days like these, you just probably needed sleep. Or something completely exhausting, like exercise or actual sex. Y'know, with another person. 

But that meant people. 

And people meant rejection. 

And rejection meant RSD. 

RSD leads to very bad things, sometimes. 

You'd rather avoid that. 

You resigned to squirming endlessly in your bed like a pathetic worm in dirt. 

Flip.

You imagine his face. 

Flip. 

His hands. 

Flip. 

His body. 

What his hands might feel like if they touched your face, or... Other places. Like your hair. What would his hands feel like, carding through your hair? Rough? Smooth? Soft? Gentle? God, you hoped he'd be gentle with you. Just be soft, careful. Sweet. You know he can be. You've seen if before. You want it. That sweet, gentleness. You want that.

You don't want a lot from him. 

Just for him to hold you. 

To exist with you peacefully. 

Keep you warm. 

Your eyes begin to lower, and so do your hands. Your body begins to calm as thoughts of his gentleness cloud your head. It feels so nice, thinking about it. Does he think about you the same way? You can only hope that he wants to hold you and keep you warm. Just warmth. Because you're tired of being cold. 

Blankets are kicked away from you as you imagine his body near yours. When he's with you, you don't need anything else to keep you warm. You get warmer thinking about him. Your body becomes a furnace filled with thoughts of him.

You love him a lot.

You really do, honest to God.

His face. His hair. His hands. Everything about him drives you up the wall in that... Special way that only love can do. Your hands wander and you imagine it's him. You feel your hair, and all of a sudden it's like feathers. You brush away your own tears of frustration, and the nervous energy in your body seems to dissipate.

Oh, God, how you wished it was him.

You let out a conteted sigh as 'he' continues to touch you. It feels a little wrong, honestly, but it's not like he'd ever find out about it. You're far too torpe to tell him anything about yourself.

In fact, he hardly knows a single truth about you, you think.

Nearly everything you have ever said to him was a lie.

You don't hate him.

You 'hate' him.

You hate him in the sense that you want him so much and you know you can't have him so you start to hate him because of it until the only thing left is this left-handed shame you feel, slowly getting stronger the more you think of him.

You hate him in the sense that you want him to pick you up and kiss you, and hold you and cuddle you, and do... Bedroom things, and whatever couples do. You're nowhere near a virgin, but you've hardly come into contact with people long enough to feel a 'spark' like all the movies and books say. You've never felt anything like this before, and for the first time in your life, you feel good. You feel good about yourself when you're with him, he has this- this something that you need because when you're with him, you feel good. So, so good.

You hate him because you want him, but you know that if you have him, you'll just poison him, like everyone else.

You poison people.

You're like a black hole; you suck people up and you tear them apart, and then you spit them out in even worse condition than before.

And you say you want to help people.

Your hands pause where they are. You want it to stop. You want to feel good again. How do you get there?

You may poison him, but that's love. You'll poison each other. Until you die, cold and alone on your bedroom floor, like God intended. You worry your lower lip between your teeth. Nervously, you continue with this disgusting act of yours like you do almost every night.

You do love him, though, and God, you hoped that he loved you back.

Your hands go ever lower, even slower.

More places to touch, more ways to feel good.

Your hands slowly dip into fabric and touch more. More. More. More. 

You wanted more. 

You wanted him so badly that it hurt, and you hated him, and you hated yourself. You wanted him so, very badly. 

You close your eyes and resign yourself to your fate of loving him for the night, and imagine him touching you, telling you that he loves you, needs you, wants you in every sense of the word. You wanted him to want you as much as you wanted him, because then, maybe if you both needed each other, it would hurt less for the both of you. 

You bite your lip and sigh through your nose. 

A little sound bubbles at the edge of your throat, but you manage to keep quiet. 

You keep your hand where it is, reaching, tugging and pushing skin, soon faster and faster you'll go. And you'll go on and on with thoughts of him. You never knew you had such lust in you, but he keeps that part of you alive and well. He also awakened parts of you that you'd believed to be long dead and gone. It was like something was turned on inside of you, and not just in the lustful manner. You knew that he's awakened monsters in you that you didn't know how to deal with, but these monsters, as it turned, weren't monsters at all. 

These monsters were a part of who you are. 

He awakened them at the time you needed them most, and that kept you going. 

You love him so much. 

You've clearly fallen head-over-heels for him. You fell so hard that you're surprised you didn't die when you hit the concrete reality that you'd never get to be with him. It was shocking to you, but you couldn't take away his friend. 

You keep tugging and pushing and you let out this weak little gasp that he might've found adorable had he walked in on this sight.

Had he felt the same way, then walked in on this, rather. 

You use your free hand to cover your mouth a little, though your open fingers did no good to muffle the sounds you made. You slowly pull the fabric restraining you down, inch by inch, and your legs become open naturally, bit by bit. Your pants become heavy as you imagine him, complimenting you, loving you, looking at you with this emotion in his eyes that you've never seen in him before. Maybe he touching you in this dream. He's pushing and pulling at your skin and he's kissing you so sweetly. 

You wanted so badly for him to kiss you. 

Your blankets rested at your feet, barely covering them, with your underwear hanging off of your leg the same way your leg hung off the side of the bed. You let out another little gasp as you touch some very nice places, and you think of him even more. You want him, need him, yearn for him. This longing was getting to be too much and you knew it, but you didn't care because all you could really hold in your hands was now, and whatever now was would keep you alive until now is over. 

Your brows furrow together and your mouth opens wide in this sweet, rosy-pink yawn while your eyes close as you keen, arching your back. 

God, some sick part of you wanted him to walk in on you doing this. Maybe he'd join in and pin you down, loving you until the sun rises. You logically knew that he'd probably be embarrassed, naturally, and he'd walk out immediately, mentally scarred for life. But you wished it could be the former. 

You kept going, still waiting for either to happen. 

The moment never quite came, but you did. 

It was all over your hand, and your tank-top, too. 

Gross. 

"Gross." Tord said as he accidentally walked in on this. You turned about fifty different shades of red and did your best to cover yourself up while you hid your face from the shame of having to face anyone like this. It might have been easier to deal with it if it were Edd or Matt who'd walked in, but this was just awful. You let out an indignant squeak as he lay in the bed, handing you another shirt. 

"You know," He said, raising his brows as he closed his eyes. "If you were having those problems again, you could have asked me for help." You cover your face again, but this time, you buried it in his chest. "I know, but-" You struggled for words. "It was, you know, movie night, and I didn't want to, uh, you know..." You grip his shirt tightly as he chuckles. "You know that neither Edd, nor Matt would have minded- mound?" He said that last part to himself quietly and you laugh. Tord shakes his head and he kisses your forehead. "Shut up, whatever, I still love you." You become even more flustered at that. You smile shyly into the crook of his neck and he holds you close, being gentle with you. 

You get up, finally, and you take off your newly desecrated tank-top. You ponder putting on the other shirt that Tord had given you, but decide against it. You lay in bed, waiting for Tord. 

He takes off his clothing and lays in bed next to you, knowing very well that you enjoy the feel of his skin on yours, even in a non-sexual manner. It just felt so... Nice to you. You're glad he respected that. Questions were asked at first, but soon, the both of you came to shrug it off as it became par for the course. You fall asleep comfortably in his arms. 

You love him so, so much. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked the depressingly gay and highly ADHD-riddled fic that this is, then boy howdy, do I have a blog for you: @ daddy-issues-anon.tumblr.com


End file.
